Became Pregnant With the Demon King’s Child

"Do you really think I would let that happen?"

Even sensing the looming crisis, Felix still retorted to the Emperor’s words. He wanted to thrust a blade into the Emperor’s throat for daring to say he would take Lowell, then tear him limb from limb so he would never speak again. But he couldn’t. Some gut instinct told him—it might already be too late.
“Hahaha, still barking so loud when you’ve already lost. Earl Clarke brought me his own child with his own two hands. I’ve given the order: if I don’t send the signal within an hour, they are to torture him to death. Well—probably about thirty minutes left now, I’d say?”
Felix heard the buzzing of hundreds, thousands of insects gnawing at his ears. He tried to reason with himself—not to be afraid just yet, not until he could tell whether the Emperor was lying or telling the truth. But the sound wouldn’t stop. No—if anything, it only grew louder.

"Get a grip, Felix! Are you really going to let some baseless threat shake you?"
The Crown Prince’s tone turned cold and decisive. Felix’s mana—strained and exhausted—swelled, resonating with his emotions. Anyone could see he was on the verge of losing control.
The timing is strange. Earl Clarke was the first to flee the moment things went south—we lost the trail. Did he realize what was happening and decide to take Lowell hostage first? Even so, it’s too fast. Too fast for them to have found and captured him.

The Crown Prince, unaware that the Clarke family had placed a tracking spell on Lowell, couldn’t understand how Lowell had been found so quickly. Bringing down the villa where Lowell was staying and defeating his escort knights would’ve required a significant force. Practically impossible.
Unless… they knew exactly where he was from the beginning.
The Crown Prince was just about to explain that line of reasoning to Felix—calmly, logically—but the Emperor spoke first.

"If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you proof. Should be arriving any moment now."
"Who—"
"I ordered them to bring back a lock of his hair and one of his fingers."

The black mana swirling around Felix exploded, flooding the entire audience chamber. His razor-sharp energy moved violently, as if it would stab straight through the Emperor’s heart at any moment. The Crown Prince thought that if the Emperor died here, so be it.
I’d planned to kill him slowly, under the pretense of convalescence—poisoning him bit by bit. But now I’ll have to find a noble to pin the blame on. I still need time to extract his secrets and force him to write a confession… keeping him alive a little longer would be useful.
It was a chilling kind of calculation, unbefitting a man watching his father’s imminent death.

"If I die, Lowell Clarke dies with me!"
At that final cry, Felix’s mana—poised at the Emperor’s heart—abruptly halted. The Emperor’s hand trembled. He realized that if he had hesitated even a moment longer, he’d already be dead.
"If you want to save him, then kill the Crown Prince here and now. Repent for your treason—and take your own life!"

Though he had just brushed the river Styx, the Emperor sensed Felix’s hesitation and suddenly grew bold. The Crown Prince barely managed to keep his expression from contorting with disgust.
"Don’t act so rashly. We haven’t even seen this ‘evidence’ yet. Nothing has been confirmed."
Even as he spoke, the Crown Prince adjusted his grip on his sword, ready to counter Felix’s attack at any moment. The black, hate-filled light in Felix’s eyes shifted—from the Emperor to the Crown Prince.
"Even if what he says is true, do you really think he’ll let the hostage live? There’s no reason to listen to him."

That was the mistake—the Crown Prince assumed Felix’s reason was returning. He was wrong.
Felix’s sword, charged with mana, stopped just in front of the Crown Prince’s throat. If the Crown Prince hadn’t reflexively flinched, he would’ve been cut.
"Felix. Get a hold of yourself."

"That was a warning, not a request."
Felix stepped past the Crown Prince and walked toward the Emperor. His menacing mana stirred the black magic circle inscribed beneath the carpet, and a violent wind whipped through the room. The Crown Prince wanted to shout a warning—but no matter what he said, it would only provoke Felix further.
"If Lowell has even a scratch on him, no one in this room will walk out alive."

Despair surged from Felix’s shadow. His usually respectful tone had turned sharp, and his voice was deathly cold—as if casting a curse. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind he meant every word.
"Send the signal. Now. Tell them to keep him alive."
"Y-you think I’ll just obey something like that?"

Felix’s blade hovered over the Emperor’s hand. It barely touched him—but a long, deep gash opened, and Felix’s mana dug into the wound.
“AAAGHH!”
The Emperor screamed as the mana twisted through his flesh like knives.

"Killing you is easy. I wonder how long you can endure torture—torture just shy of death."
Felix’s restraint deteriorated by the second. The Emperor realized—he’d poked a far more dangerous madman than he’d ever imagined. Felix’s mana, like writhing tentacles, flayed the skin up to the Emperor’s forearm, spreading pain with surgical precision.
“A-A demon…”

“Yes. And if you don’t want to find out what else this demon can do—then move. Whether it’s killing the Crown Prince or putting you out of your misery, I’ll do it all.”
Still bound, the Emperor screamed in terror and gagged. But he held back. If he gave the signal to release Lowell, he might be killed anyway. He tried to endure it. A reversal of the scene from just moments ago.
All the while, the black magic circle beneath Felix’s feet continued to throb. It was devouring his mana greedily, and the tremors on the floor only grew stronger. If this kept up, they wouldn’t destroy the circle—they’d open a gate for monsters. The Crown Prince watched, trying to judge the exact moment to intervene.

But Felix—on edge, furious, raw—had already sensed the Crown Prince’s calculations. There was no opening.
Just when the atmosphere reached its breaking point—when it seemed the room itself might shatter—someone knocked at the door.
“Y-Your Majesty! Prince Zephyros Meyer is here!”

What was strange was that, at that announcement, both the Emperor and the Crown Prince brightened.
The Emperor, as if the pain had been momentarily forgotten, smiled. The Crown Prince, too, relaxed slightly, as if he’d heard good news.
“Let him in.”

The Crown Prince gave the order. Felix, still pinning the Emperor down, turned his eyes to the door as it opened—and watched Zephyros enter.
The young man was drenched in sweat from running. The moment he felt the murderous pressure in the room, he froze.
“I-I’m here! H-hurry, give that to me!”

The Emperor clung to Zephyros like he was his last lifeline. Felix stared blankly at the paper in Zephyros’s hand. Between the folds, he glimpsed what was unmistakably Lowell’s hair.
“What is that?”
Felix’s voice trembled with fury. Without Lowell—his anchor—Felix was drifting.

“It—it’s proof that Lord Lowell is safe!”
In that instant, the entire mood in the room flipped.
“W-what are you saying…?”

The Emperor looked as though he’d been betrayed by the one person he trusted most.
“You’re too late.”
Unlike the Emperor, the Crown Prince let out a sigh of relief, like a man whose gamble had just paid off.

“He asked me to deliver this to the Duke.”
At those words, Felix left the Emperor and rushed toward Zephyros as if in a trance. Zephyros nearly fell on his backside from the speed with which Felix appeared before him, but managed to hold his balance.
“Give it to me.”

Felix took the envelope with trembling hands. Inside was a neatly cut lock of Lowell’s hair, and a letter—written in the handwriting Felix knew better than anyone.
The very same handwriting from the letters Lowell used to send every day, back when they were in the capital.
[To my love, Felix—
I thought you might be shocked to hear I was captured by Earl Clarke, so I asked someone to deliver this letter right away. Thanks to Zephyros, who pretended to be brainwashed by black magic, I was able to escape.
So no matter what anyone says about me, don’t believe it.
Do you remember the time I was sick in bed, and you told me a fairy tale? I’m not like the doll in that story—I won’t break so easily. No matter who you are, or what state you’re in, I’ll be your baker—ready to give you a kiss.
Don’t worry about me. Just come back safely.]

With every line he read, the light returned to Felix’s eyes. Lowell had included the small, intimate details only the two of them shared—proof that the letter was truly from him.
And more than anything, at the end of the letter, there was a drawing—something between a doodle and a grotesque monster. It was unmistakably the same portrait Lowell had once drawn of Felix.